


Thicker Than Water

by SnubbingApollo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Attempted Brainwashing, Blood, Blood Magic, Bull and Krem to the rescue, Canon-Typical Violence, Halward's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Pining dorian, protective Krem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubbingApollo/pseuds/SnubbingApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull and Krem don’t even look at each other before they’re moving. Krem pulls his sword and uses the hilt to smash the window swinging into the room. He vaguely hears the Bull swing his ax and fucking destroy a qunari sized chunk of the wall before running in with a roar that could chill blood, but all his attention is focused on the man on the floor. </p><p>AU where Dorian meets Krem and Bull prior to the start of Inquisition and joins the chargers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [ Krem-de-le-creme ](http://krem-de-le-creme.tumblr.com/) for poking me until this got started.

Krem hides his face a little further under his hood as he walks. He hates being this close to the Tevinter border. Even knowing Bull is hanging back watching him isn’t enough to make him feel like every guard isn’t going to recognize him. Still, it’s the only place to meet a courier willing to carry anything to Tevinter and trustworthy enough not to just steal the package and run. His family needs the money.

He’s handed the package off and is about to make his way to the edge of town where he can ditch this get up, which he thinks makes him look way too conspicuously like someone trying to avoid attention but Bull assures him will make him blend him, and get the hell away the Imperium, when he hears the first cry. It’s muffled, but whoever made it is obviously terrified. He looks over at Bull out of the corner of his eye. The qunari has tensed in a way that makes it obvious he’s heard it too. They hold eye contact for a moment. They shouldn’t. They both know they shouldn’t. They’re on their own, the rest of the Chargers hanging back out of the town so as not to attract attention, and they can’t afford to do anything to make themselves stand out. Krem is still a wanted deserter.

The cry comes again, louder this time and more desperate. The guards are ignoring it, paid off probably, and the only thing the townspeople do about it is give the building it’s coming from a wider birth. If they don’t help whoever it is, no one will. In the end there’s no decision to make really.

Krem makes his way slowly to the building the sounds came from. It looks like a tavern but judging from the lack of music and sounds that generally accompany many drunk people gathered in one place, it’s clearly been emptied out. He moves into the alleyway next to it and leans against a window peeking in. He takes in the scene and clutches the hilt of his sword.

The tables and chairs have been shoved to the side and the floor of the cleared space is covered in arcing swirls and sigils. In the center of them is a puddle dark red liquid that Krem knows with a certainty he wishes he didn’t have can only be blood. A man in Magister’s robes stands on one side of it and on the other is another man, younger looking and dressed much less finely, dirty in a way that speaks of the road. He’s being held in place by two other men, also in mage robes, and from the look on his face he’s clearly the one who’s been screaming. He’s struggling against the hold of the mages' hands but he gets nowhere and he’s staring at the Magister across from him with a pleading expression.

“Let me go,” he says, his voice is muffled through the window, but it’s still easy to hear the way it cracks with panic and possibly tears. He speaks with the accent of a highborn. An Altus? “Please, father, don’t do this!”

“Shit,” Krem spits. The man speaks with the voice of someone who knows they won’t be heard, that begging is useless. He’s given up even as he struggles. The Magister, the man’s _father, fuck,_ walks over to him, careful to side step the blood and reaches out to lay a hand on the man’s face. Hope shines in his eyes for a moment and he leans into the touch, before his father pulls away again and his face crumbles.

“It’s for your own good, Dorian. Trust me, you’ll thank me when this is over,” the Magister says, his voice a parody of gentleness. Bull has caught up and is tense and breathing heavy behind him.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he spits, fury in his voice.

Inside the tavern the Magister’s assistants have started to shove and pull the man into the center of the sigils. He tries to struggle but his feet slip in the blood and they manage to wrangle him down so that he’s lying on his back in the puddle. Once he’s down they pin him with a terrible effectiveness at his arms and legs. He thrashes and lets out a horrified scream.

“Help,” he cries out. He’s not even bothering to scream it loudly. It escapes him in a choked little mumble, just barely loud enough to carry to the two warriors outside. He knows help isn’t coming. “Please, someone help me!”

Bull and Krem don’t even look at each other before they’re moving. Krem pulls his sword and uses the hilt to smash the window swinging into the room. He vaguely hears the Bull swing his ax and fucking destroy a qunari sized chunk of the wall before running in with a roar that could chill blood, but all his attention is focused on the man on the floor. He was right about his voice being choked with tears. Now that he’s in the room he can see the man all but _sobbing_ , and it’s clear that the fact that a rescue is in motion has not even occurred to him. He has his eyes squeezed shut and he’s given up struggling and Krem wants those fuckers _off_ him. _Now_.

Bull takes care of it for him, taking one of their heads off with his ax before he can bring his hands up to cast. The other immediately turns his attention to Bull and moves off the man on the floor to attack. The Magister is yelling something but all Krem can hear is the man on the floor screaming in terror, eyes still shut and having no clue what’s happening. All he can see is him curling in on himself lying in that fucking puddle of blood and it’s all over him, coating his back and sinking into his clothes, his _hair_.

Krem slides to his knees next to the man and gently lays his hands on his arms. The man cries out and flinches and Krem shushes him softly, pulling him close and lifting him up out of the blood. The man fights him for a moment before Krem’s soothing seems to sink in and he relaxes letting himself be carried off to the side away from the fighting. Krem leans back against the legs of one of the chairs and pulls the man to him  
.  
“Shh. It’s alright. You’re alright, you’re safe now,” he whispers softly. The man turns to look behind him towards where Bull is still taking care of the Magister and his cronies, his own _father_ Maker’s _mercy_ , and Krem puts a gentle hand on the side of his face, turning back to meet his eyes. “Hey, no. There’s nothing you need to worry about over there, alright? Just focus on my voice, okay? They’re not gonna hurt you while I’m here.”

There’s a scream from behind them that obviously comes from the man’s father and he flinches violently trying to turn around again.

“Hey, hey, Dorian right? Eyes on me, okay? Everything’s gonna be okay, just keep your eyes on me.”

Dorian is shaking and breathing hard, blood from his hair dripping into his eyes and down his face. He’s clinging to Krem for dear life and still flinching at every sound from behind them. There’s a sudden shout of warning from Bull, and Krem is just about to launch himself to the side, when Dorian turns, flinging a hand out and a wash of blue engulfs them both. The barrier goes up just in time to block a stray burst of fire. Krem never would have been able to move fast enough. He tightens his arms around Dorian and the man turns back to him, staring at him with the intensity of someone blocking everything else out.

“Good, there you go. That’s right. I need you to breathe for me, though, Dorian. Can you do that?” Krem asks gently. The man’s harsh breathing had only gotten worse with the small glimpse he’d gotten of the scene behind him. “Even and slow, okay? Nice and easy.”

Dorian clings to Krem and visibly struggles for a moment but his breathing starts to even out and slowly he backs away from the edge of hyperventilation.

“That’s it, just like that,” Krem murmurs to him. He reaches up and gently wipes the stray drops of blood from Dorian’s face, brushing his soaked hair back so more won’t follow. There’s a final thump from behind them and then the room goes silent.

Dorian lets out a choked sob and presses himself closer to krem and the warrior wraps him up tighter in his arms.

“Shh, it’s okay now. You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you now, I promise. It’s over, Dorian. It’s over.”

Bull has wiped off his ax and returned it to his back and is walking slowly over to them. He crouches down next to them but a moderate distance away. Trying not to spook Dorian. Krem notes with affection that he’s also positioned himself perfectly to hide the carnage behind him from Dorian.

“He okay?” he asks quietly. Dorian nods and takes a deep breath, composing himself as best he can. He raises his head from where it was buried in Krem’s shoulder and turns to look at Bull. Even though he’s trying to look unthreatening the qunari is still covered in blood and Krem can feel Dorian tense. He tightens his arms around the Altus in response but the man doesn’t react in any way other that initial tensing. He meets Bull’s eyes unflinchingly and speaks in a voice which has regained most of its strength and evenness.

“Why?” he says switching to softly accented common. He looks back and forth between them frowning. 

“You needed help,” Bull answers shrugging. It’s so similar to what Bull had said to him after jumping in front of a flail that Krem can’t help but smile.

“I can’t repay you,” Dorian says. “I have nothing.”

“We don’t want anything,” Krem tells him. Bull reaches out a hand.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Dorian stares at the hand for a moment before reaching out and taking it. Krem and Bull help the man get to his feet and as soon as he’s standing he looks down at himself, frowning at his ruined clothes. Krem pulls off his cloak wrapping it around Dorian’s shoulders. It’s been splattered as well but the dark color hides it better. Dorian accepts it reluctantly with a nod of thanks.

The three of them exit through the hole in the wall, Dorian staring at it disbelievingly, and then the Altus wavers. He stands shifting from foot to foot worriedly, casting a glance down the alley and then back to the main street. He’s clearly wondering how he’s going to get out of the town without being seen.

Bull just wraps an arm around his shoulder and leads him out to the street. Krem rests a hand casually on his sword hilt and glares violent death at every guard who so much as looks in their direction. It’s a tense walk but they make it out of the town unmolested. Dorian breathes a sigh of relief once they reach the clearing where Krem and Bull had tied their mounts.

Bull releases Dorian and they both start untying and saddling the horses. Bull swings up gently onto his horse, the mare giving the same disgruntled snort as always before he rubs her neck and they both turn to Dorian waiting for him to climb up onto Krem’s stallion and see him standing awkwardly holding Krem’s cloak in his hands. He holds it out the warrior when he sees them looking at him. Krem takes it with a confused frown.

“Thank you,” Dorian says. “I- that is woefully insufficient in the face of what you’ve done for me, but it’s all I have to offer you.” He takes a step back clearing a path for their horses and Krem’s frown deepens. He’s expecting to be left. Out here in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood, and, by his own admission, with nothing.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Krem asks. Dorian shakes his head but smiles shakily.

“I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

The two warriors look at each other. Is he serious?

“Why don’t you come with us?” Bull asks. Dorian’s eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“No, I couldn’t possibly impose upon you further,” he says.

“It’s not an imposition," Krem tells him. “We didn’t save you just to leave you alone in the woods to starve.”

“I’ll have you know I’m quite the competent hunter,” Dorian argues. He frowns at them assessingly. He’s looking for a trap, a catch.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Bull tells him. “But you’re welcome to.”

Dorian hesitates for a moment.

“I don’t even know your names,” he hedges.

“I’m Cremisius Aclassi, but you can call me Krem. That’s the Iron Bull. He looks a little intimidating but he’s a giant teddy bear really.”

“Hey,” Bull says. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain, you know.”

“The way you’re going the only reputation you’re gonna have is one for saving stray Tevinters,” Krem shoots back.

The Altus looks between them for a moment, cagey and nervous before he nods slowly and climbs on to Krem’s horse. The warrior swings up behind him and takes the reigns.  
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Bull says. “Being so close to ‘Vint territory gives me a rash.” He winks at the two of them before nudging his horse into motion. Dorian arches an eyebrow at the joke but Krem just laughs ushering his stallion forward and following.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride is quiet. Bull and Krem don’t say much and Dorian finds himself caught up in his own thoughts. He’d been such a fool, selling his Birthright so close to Tevinter. Of course news of the transaction would have made its way back to his father. He should have waited longer, perhaps until he’d arrived in Orlais, he’d just gotten desperate. He is a fairly good hunter but he’s by no means perfect and every time he failed to catch something he went hungry. He had nothing to offer for a night in an inn and so he’d been sleeping outside for several weeks.

He’d run with nothing but his staff and the clothes on his back. He’d needed the money and he’d been out of the Imperium. He’d thought he was safe. What a fool. As if his father would ever allow the heir of his house disappear into the night without a fight.

His father. 

He flinches as his mind chooses that moment to replay the sound of his father’s scream. He can’t think about this.

“Where are we going?” he asks, somewhat more loudly than is truly called for. The Iron Bull looks over at him. Dorian still can’t believe how massive the man is. He’s never seen a Qunari up close and he finds himself somewhat intimidated, though the man has done nothing to threaten him so far.

“We’ve got a camp a couple miles out. The rest of the Chargers are waiting for us there,” the Bull tells him.

“The Chargers?” Dorian asks.

“That’s the name of our company; The Bull’s Chargers. He’s the Bull,” Krem says jerking his head to the Qunari. “And we’re the Chargers.”

“Clever,” Dorian says. “You’re mercenaries then?”

“Yeah, I keep telling the Chief here that saving people for free isn’t sound business practice but I can’t seem to make him listen.”

Dorian flinches slightly at the words. They hadn’t carried the tone of a jab but how could they not be? 

“If you give me some time I can find a way to repay you,” he says. Krem nudges him slightly with his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re alright. Just a joke, yeah?” he says softly.

“You don’t owe us anything, Dorian,” Bull reaffirms. “We would have helped anyone in that situation.”

Dorian frowns but nods. They fall back into a mostly comfortable silence and Dorian distracts himself from unpleasant thoughts by planning what he’s going to do once they reach their destination. Krem and Bull have offered him a place to stay but that invitation can’t possibly last for long. He’ll be a pull on their resources and they’re mercenaries, not a charity. He briefly entertains the idea of suggesting to them that he stay on but marks it off as ridiculous. They’ve seen his abilities, or lack thereof, already. They can’t have been very impressed by his Huddle and Cry method of self-defense. 

If he still had his staff he could perhaps sell that. He could use magic well enough to get by without it, but his father and his lackeys had done maker knows what with it when they’d caught him.

_Panic deep and cutting. How did they_ find _me? Why? Why couldn’t you just let me go? I could burn you. I don’t need my staff for that. I could burn this entire building to the ground with you in it. Then I’d never have to look over my shoulder again. I could. I could._

Dorian shakes his head violently, covering the motion with what he hopes is a realistic sounding fake sneeze. He hadn’t. If his father hadn’t been there in person perhaps. But with him standing right there…

His father.

Krem and Bull pull the horses to a stop and Dorian watches somewhat confused as Bull cups his hands over his mouth and makes a strange hooting whistle. It’s echoed a moment later from in front of them with a slightly different tone and they start moving again. Signaling, Dorian realizes. They must be close to the camp then.

They travel through a thicker section of forest that opens up into a small clearing that, sure enough, is filled with several tents. Dorian jumps and nearly falls off the horse as an elf leaps out of a tree in front of them. She’s small, as most elves are in Dorian’s experience, with dark hair and tan skin.

“Who’s the Shem?” she asks giving Dorian a glower. The mage leans back into Krem a bit and the other ‘Vint tightens his arms around Dorian subtly.

“This is Dorian,” Bull says. “He ran into some trouble and we’re helping him out, so play nice. Dorian meet Skinner. She’s got a bit of a temper but she’s the best scout this side of Par Vollen.”

“Pleasure,” Dorian says with a somewhat strained smile. The elf narrows her eyes further at the sound of his accent.

“Another ‘Vint?” she mutters.

“Yeah,” Krem says. “Turns out we multiply like rabbits. By the end of the year you’ll be buried in us.”

The elf rolls her eyes but walks off. They dismount the horses and tie them to a branch next to several others Dorian assumes belong to the rest of the company. 

Dorian turns to take in the camp in more detail. In the center there’s a fire pit, with a dwarf crouching next to it attempting to start the evening’s fire. He pauses striking his flint to wave at them. Next to him sitting on a log are two humans, the one on the right has blonde hair and light skin the other is more similar to Skinner’s coloring.

“Pick up another stray, Ser?” the one on the left says as they walk closer. The other says nothing but stares at Dorian in an intense way that makes him feel slightly uncomfortable.

“You know me, Stitches. Can’t say no to a sad face.”

“This is Stitches; the company healer, Rocky; our explosives expert, and Grim; he doesn’t say much but we’re pretty sure he’s some sort of royalty. Guys, this is Dorian,” Krem says by way of introduction. Dorian nods to the men. Krem and Bull take seats on the log as well and Dorian hovers awkwardly for a moment before settling next to the other Vint. 

“Dalish is out getting supper,” Rocky tells them. “Should be back soon.”

The four of them continue talking and Dorian hovers on the edge of the conversation. Occasionally one of them will say something directly to him and he’ll give a half-hearted response but mostly he tunes them out. He’s caught in his own thoughts again, idly forming and discarding plans for what he’s going to do tomorrow.

Eventually, Dalish, who turns out to be another elf which really Dorian could have figured out easily before meeting her if a little more of his brain was focused on what was being said around him and not on contingencies, and the rabbits she’s caught are cooked and passed around. Dorian attempts to remember his manners and eat at a reasonable pace but it’s been entirely too long since he’s had this much to eat and it tastes delicious in a way he’d never thought such simple fare could. It also doesn’t seem to be disappearing. Every time he looks away and then back down at his plate more seems to have appeared. He marks it down to a mix of how unaccustomed he’s become to having this much food in front of him and how distracted he is.

Eventually, the food is finally gone and Dorian is more full than he’s been in weeks. When he looks up he realizes that all of the party except Krem and Bull have left, retired for the evening most likely. Maker how long was he stuffing his face? He can feel himself flushing and hopes it’s not noticeable in the firelight.

“So what do you think?” Krem asks. Dorian arches an eyebrow questioningly.

“Of the boys,” Bull clarifies.

“They seem to be a fine bunch. Though I’m not entirely certain Skinner doesn’t want to skin _me,_ ” he says. Bull laughs.

“She’ll come around,” he says. “Not too fond of Humans or ‘Vints. Less fond of people who are both at the same time, but she likes Krem well enough. Think we’re the sort of people you could take up with?”

Take up with? He’s not serious.

“We’ll have to find you a staff, but one should be easy enough to come by once we get back to Orlais,” Krem adds. “That’s where we’re based out of, by the way. Some better armor too. No offense but it looks like those robes have seen better days. Do you like bladed staffs? Dalish’s ‘bow’ is a straight quarter staff so it’d be good to have a mage with a pike or a polearm. I know a lot of Magisters train with Glaives.”

Dorian blinks.

“You’re serious,” Dorian says rather stupidly. Bull and Krem look at each other.

“Well, yeah,” Krem says. “Why'd you think we brought you all the way out here?”

“I thought you were being kind. I hardly gave you the best first impression of my battle prowess.”

“Are _you_ serious?” Krem asks him, eyes wide.

“I just sat there the whole time,” Dorian points out. “I was practically useless.”

“Dorian, that barrier you cast stood up to a pretty massive fire spell, and you did it without a staff. You barely even had to look in the direction of the attack. That’s the kind of useless I could use at my back,” Bull tells him.

Dorian looks back and forth between them, searching for a trick or a joke, but finding nothing but sincerity.

“I- yes,” he says finally somewhat dazed. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Alright,” Bull says with a loud grin. He smacks Dorian on the back companionably and if not for Krem’s steadying hand on his arm Dorian would probably have tumbled off the log under it.

“You should head to bed,” Krem tells him. “We can figure out permanent sleeping arrangements tomorrow but for tonight you’ll have to share, sorry.”

“No that’s- that’s fine,” Dorian says with a shaky smile. It’s more than fine.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dorian thrashes against the hands holding him down. He can feel the sticky liquid beneath him seeping into his clothing, soaking it and making it stick to his skin. Every movement splashes more of it on him until he’s slick with it, legs sliding along the floor unable to find any leverage. His father begins to speak softly fingers tracing sigils in the air above him and Dorian sobs, squeezing his eyes shut._

_He begs and screams but his father’s voice doesn’t falter once, not even to make another paltry attempt at comforting him. He can feel the magic start to settle heavy in the air above him sliding along his skin like oil, cold and slick, before the sensation sinks deeper and he can feel it inside him, crawling along things that were never meant to be touched. He gives one last scream determined to be heard one final time before he loses himself._

_“I hate you!”_

_He roars it with everything he has, wanting the words to haunt his father for the rest of his life. Wanting him to remember them while he makes polite conversation with the happy smiling puppet he’s created over the breakfast table. When he watches Dorian put a ring on the finger of some woman he’s been forced to love._

He thrashes harder against the hands and manages to get one arm free flailing it wildly and feeling a thrill of victory when it connects with flesh. A thrill of pain jolts his eyes open and he sits up frantically, suddenly free. They must have dropped his arms when he hit one of them. He doesn’t pause, he leaps up off the floor and breaks into a run. He’s just thrown open the tent flap when he finally notices his surroundings.

He’s in a tent. Well he was. Now he’s standing in the entrance to it, half naked and wild eyed with Stitches staring at him in concerned confusion.

“You alright, Dorian?” he asks. Dorian pants for a moment not sure how to respond.

“I- yes,” he says breathlessly. “I just- I thought I heard something.”

“Well there’s nothing out here,” Stitches says. "It's all clear, I promise."

“I see,” Dorian answers, forcing a small laugh. “must have been a dream.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed, Dorian,” Stitches suggests gently. “I’ve got everything under control out here alright?” 

Dorian nods turning back to his tent, closing the flap again.

He sighs once he’s alone. He’s lucky none of them heard him. This is the third night in a row he’s had a nightmare like that, but it’d felt so real this time. He shivers under the memory of the dream and pulls the blankets up over his shoulders before wincing in pain. He shifts the fabric down and lets out a small noise of frustration when he sees the scratches bleeding lazily on his shoulder. That must have been what he hit in his thrashing. He throws himself back down against his pillow with a noise of disgust. 

***

The rest of the night passes without incident and thankfully when he emerges from his tent for breakfast in the morning Stitches doesn’t say anything.

There’s a chorus of good mornings and he grunts in return.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bedroll, Little Altus?” Krem asks.

“Perhaps I’ve not yet accustomed myself to waking at this unholy hour,” he mutters in return as he takes a piece of bread Rocky held out for him.

“Bitch bitch bitch,” Krem returns.

“Just because Soporati enjoy living like savages does not mean the rest of us have to.”

“Oooh, savage Soporati is it?”

“If the shoe fits,” Dorian says.

“Well, maybe this savage should come over there and take that bread back. Sure a proper Altus like you wouldn’t want to be caught eating like a commoner,” Krem says standing.   
Dorian pauses mid bite.

“I never said that,” he protests.

“Oh no, please allow me, my Lord,” Krem teases bowing theatrically before lunging and grabbing at Dorian as he scrambles away. The group erupts in a chorus of laughs as the pair tumbles to the ground, Dorian holding his breakfast in the air protectively. Krem grabs for it and Dorian scurries backwards, before the warrior grabs his ankle halting the movement and clambering on top of him.

“This is entirely undignified!” Dorian shouts loudly. Krem just laughs.

“Get ‘em, Krem,” Rocky calls over the group’s laughter and Dorian’s protests.

“Betrayal!” Dorian cries. Krem’s attempts to reach his the bread lead to him drawing a hand up Dorian’s side for balance and the mage only manages to stifle a laugh by biting his lip hard. Krem looks at him suspiciously repeating the motion and getting an evil gleam in his eyes when Dorian can’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t you dare,” Dorian warns. Krem abandons his attempts to grab the bread and moves both hands to Dorian’s sides. Dorian raises his own free hand and flings it up into the air, and a wave of force flips Krem off him and onto his back. Dorian scrambles up and runs, taking cover behind Dalish.

“What makes you think I’m going to help?” she asks.

“Mage solidarity?” Dorian asks hopefully.

“I’m not a mage,” she says with a smirk. Dorian lets out a noise of frustration.

“Relax, Altus,” Krem says from where he’s dusting himself off. “We’ll call it a tie, for now.”

The pair return to their seats around the fire, Dorian rather more slowly and suspiciously than Krem.

“We should hit Orlais today,” Bull says once the laughter's calmed down. “We’ll head to Val Royeux, case around for work and get Dorian outfitted.”

Dorian frowns. He’s too thrilled at the idea of actually having a staff again to truly protest but he doesn’t like the idea of the Charger’s spending their money on him. Krem had told him to consider it an investment, rather than a gift.

“Whatever we spend getting you battle ready we’ll get back plus extra from the work you’ll do with us,” he’d said. Dorian still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but he’d agreed. It would take him too long to save up on his own, and he’d be all but useless to them while in the meantime.

Around an hour later they’ve finished eating and broken camp and their on the road again. Krem shifts behind him on the horse.

“So,” he says in quiet Tevene. “You had a nightmare last night.” Dorian grunts angrily.

“Stitches should learn to mind his own business,” Dorian responded.

“Stitches didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. You were screaming, Dorian.”

The mage blushes.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Krem tells him, tightening his arms momentarily. “This has been happening a lot. The others don’t speak Tevene so they don’t know what you you were saying, but I do. I just wanted you to know, that if you need to talk about anything, what happened or how you’re feeling, I’m here yeah?”

There’s silence for a moment before Dorian speaks again.

“I don’t how I feel,” he says. “My father is dead. I should be mourning him, I am in a way, but after…. I don’t know how to feel,” he finishes lamely.

“That’s okay,” Krem says, tightening his arms again. Dorian sighs, leaning back into the embrace a little.

"This would be much less awkward if you weren’t so short,” he says after a silent moment.

“You can walk, you know,” Krem says back. 

Dorian laughs a little before squeezing one of Krem's hands companionably.

"Thank you, Cremisius," he says.

"Any time, Dorian."


	4. Chapter 4

Dorian twirls his new staff in his hands admiring the balance and the weight of it. It’s simpler than his tastes usually run but well made, a blade about the length of his forearm at one end, a perfectly lovely red jewel on the other. Dorian generally favored fire or lightening as his secondary school and Dalish was a storm… archer, so flame was the logical choice. 

It’s good to feel a staff in his hands again, not just the weight and heft of it, though that is a comfort after so long unarmed, but the focus of it. The way he can feel it almost pulling at his magic, as though it’s eager to be used. He can cast with a good deal of skill unarmed but it takes so much focus, so much effort. Now he can feel the magic all but leaping to answer his commands.

“Alright,” Bull says with a smirk. “Let’s see what you can do.” Dorian arches an eyebrow and looks around the camp they’ve set up. They weren’t staying in the city even though they were doing business there. Bull had said something about waiting to let the nobility know they were there. They would spend some time observing and figuring out the current situation, which alliances had shifted, who was currently ‘in’ and who was ‘out’, before approaching anyone themselves. A clever way to keep the Chargers from getting caught up in the machinations of the Great Game.

“You want to spar?” he asks. Bull nods.

“Gotta know what you can do. Don’t worry I won’t embarrass you in front of the boys too badly.” The qunari squeezes his eye shut in what appears to be an attempt at a wink. Dorian wishes he was so sure. It’s been so long since he fought without his necromancy, but he knows what that sort of magic is thought of in the South. Barely a step above blood magic, to say nothing of the fact that Bull is qunari. It’s a wonder he tolerates mages at all let alone ones who regularly commune with the spirits of the dead. Still he can’t very well say no.

He nods and readies himself as the Chargers take up seats at the edge of the clearing to watch. Dalish casts a barrier around both of them and Bull shifts the wooden poll he’s using in lieu of his axe. Dorian is thankful he won’t have to spend the duel attempting not to actually be cleaved in two at least.

They circle each other for a moment before Dorian shoots a simple weak fireball at Bull’s blind side. The qunari dodges it with an unexpected degree of agility and the fight is on.

Bull runs at him swinging for his left and Dorian dodges underneath the pole aiming another fire spell up at Bull from his crouched position. Bull dances back to avoid it and Dorian swings at him with his staff as he retreats careful to pull the blow so that it bounces off the barrier harmlessly. At least it would have had the Bull not twisted out of the way in a manner which really should have been impossible given his bulk.

“Nice,” he says as he settles back into a ready stance.

“You’re faster than I thought you’d be,” Dorian says.

“I get that a lot,” Bull tells him with a smirk before he runs forward again. The next few moments are a blur of dodges and glancing blows. Dorian does manage to land a fair amount of his own but the fight is clearly going in the Bull’s favor. Most of Dorian’s time and effort is spent avoiding the larger man’s attacks and the fact that he’s managing to land a few counters wouldn’t matter if this was a real fight. Finally the Bull sweeps his feet out from under him and Dorian barely manages to keep from giving himself away. He can feel the fear spell forming in the air and he dispels it quickly before the energy around his staff can begin to glow with the unearthly purple that accompanies such magic. His error means he ends up pinned on the ground beneath the Bull’s bulk the pole against his throat.

“Yield,” he says grudgingly and Bull helps him to his feet.

“That was good,” Bull says with a smile. “You almost had me a couple times. Can’t wait to see you in a real fight.”

“I would have had you if you couldn’t move in ways I’m frankly not sure are possible. Are you sure you’re not a mage yourself? I could have sworn you used Fade Step at least once,” he jokes.

“Not last I checked,” Bull answers with a small laugh. Dorian turns to look at the other Chargers and sees them exchanging coins amongst themselves. He wonders which of them were foolish enough to bet on him. When he sees Dalish, however, all the humor leaves him. She’s glaring at him suspiciously and he swallows nervously under her gaze.

“Are you a blood mage?” she asks bluntly. Dorian’s eyes widen and he sputters for a moment.

“What? _No,_ ” he finally gets out. Krem elbows her in the side.

“Dalish,” he says his voice scolding but the elf doesn’t look away from Dorian.

“That little hesitation. You were going to cast something, but then you dispelled it. It’s why you lost. If you’re not a blood mage what don’t you want us to see?”

Well Dorian’s little plan to hide his less than acceptable magic is going swimmingly. They’re all watching him now and Dorian shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m a mortalitasi,” Dorian says, admitting defeat. Krem whistles.

“That supposed to mean something?” Rocky mutters.

“He’s a necromancer,” Krem tells the dwarf. 

“Shit,” Bull says and he sounds enthused. “That’s gonna be fun to see in action.”

“Doesn’t really lend itself to sparring, though,” Krem said with a chuckle. “Pretty sure you actually lost that fight, Chief. Pay up, Skinner.”

“Not likely,” she says firmly. “The bet was who would win the spar, not who would win in a real fight. _I_ won.”

Dorian relaxes as the tension leaves the clearing.

“Sorry,” Dalish says with a sheepish smile.

“No, it was a reasonable assumption,” Dorian says with a wave of his hand. He probably would have assumed the same in her place.

“Alright, Chargers. Let’s go over what we know. I don’t feel like getting sucked into any lover’s quarrels this time _Krem._ ” 

Dorian arches an eyebrow but Krem just shrugs his shoulders without an ounce of regret.

***

Watching the Charger’s work is equal parts fascinating and entertaining. They use the main hall of the inn they’re staying at as their meeting room. Krem does all the talking as they field clients. The Bull looms off to the side looking every inch the barely tamed savage, while he observes and catalogues everything about each of them. He communicates his observations to Krem through a series of subtle movements Dorian wouldn’t even notice if he didn’t know about them already. Krem plays up his accent, swallowing even more consonants than usual. The rest of the group, including Dorian, are scattered at the other tables looking disinterested but violent, in a way Dorian doesn’t bother to try to emulate. He thinks he would just end up looking foolish. Instead he puts his feet up on one of the tables and attempts to look as pampered and above it all as possible. He’s a _magister_ after all. Dangerous and exotic in his robes. His staff leans against his chair in plain view as if he’s daring the Southern barbarians to comment on his magic.

The result leaves the Orlesians thinking Krem is in charge, not very bright and obviously low class but strong enough to control the mindless qunari killing machine that is the Iron Bull. The nonchalance of the rest of the group leaves them with a sense that the Chargers could take their work or leave it, and on top of that Dorian is providing enough of a novel distraction that they hardly seem to notice as Krem negotiates the price up. One woman in particular, can’t seem to take her eyes off him. Dorian makes a show of catching her staring and winking playfully and he worries for a moment she’s going to _faint._ The price they get out of her is practically criminal.

“You,” Rocky says as she leaves, “are a natural.” Dorian examines his nails with a put upon sigh.

“Please. Tevinter intrigue would eat what these simpletons call ‘The Great Game’ for dessert.” He drops his affectation with a smile. “Besides this is fun. Did you see her _face?_ ”

“Did you see her coin purse?” Stitches asks. “This calls for drinks.”

***

“Nngh, _fuck,_ ” Krem groans as the Bull thrusts into him. It’s been entirely too long since they had a bed and the privacy of four walls around them. Bull grunts above him and shifts his grip on Krem’s hips freeing one hand to slide between his legs and rub at his clit.

“Fuck, you look good like this, Krem,” The bull pants. “You gonna come for me?” Krem groans and rocks his hips back into the Bull’s thrusts.

“Quit yammering and fuck me harder,” he mutters through clenched teeth. Bull growls and does as he’s told. 

It’s not long before Krem’s toes are curling and his head is falling back, a cry escaping his throat as he comes. Bull follows not long after with a bellow that absolutely woke up Dalish and Skinner if the clapping coming from the room next door is any indication. Krem gives a moaning laugh as Bull pulls out and moves to the side to lay on his back. The qunari stretches and hums. Krem turns and presses into his side as the Bull’s arms comes back down around him. They lay like that drifting in the afterglow for a long time before Krem speaks.

“Things went well today,” he says. Bull laughs.

“Dorian sure took to it like a fish to water. He should think about altering his robes if he wants to play the magister though. The one’s he has now are too Southern.” 

Krem hums in agreement.

“I’ll mention it tomorrow. I’m just glad he’s stopped waiting for his to ship him off at a moment’s notice. He still doesn’t really trust it yet though. I don’t think he was ever going to tell about his necromancy.”

“Damn shame that would be. He almost had me a couple times. If pyromancy’s his back up I can’t wait to see what he looks like when he’s using something he actually thinks he’s good at.”

Krem pulls a face.

“What?” Bull asks.

“He didn’t need us to save him, Bull,” Krem tells him. “Even without a staff he could’ve brought that whole building down. He could have just killed them and ran but he didn’t. He didn’t even try to put a barrier around himself until it meant also protecting me.”

“Yeah,” Bull says with a sigh.

“Do you think he’s self-destructive?” Krem asks.

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t think he’s an immediate danger to himself, and he’s shown he’s not a danger to us, but there’s something there. We still don’t know what that bastard was trying to do to him.”

Krem sighs again and presses closer.

“He looked happy today. Like he was having fun.”

“He did,” Bull agrees with a smile. “We’ll just have to make sure it stays that way.”

Krem kisses him softly before pressing against his side again, his head resting on the larger man’s shoulder and closing his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Dorian knocks on the Bull’s room for the third time, calling out to him. There’s no response and he stands awkwardly out in the hallway for a moment. He could just go down to the main hall and join the Chargers by himself but then Bull might miss breakfast. His stomach growls and he frowns. He knows he probably shouldn’t but he’s hungry and he doesn't want Bull to go without so he opens the door and sticks his head in.

“Bull? Breakfast is on,” he says glancing about the room. The mass of covers on the bed shifts and Dorian swallows thickly as it resolves itself into not one but two forms. Oh dear. There’s a rough grumble in the Bull’s voice and the larger shape which must be him pulls the covers more firmly of his face. The other, smaller shape tugs them off and sits up and Dorian nearly swallows his tongue as Krem’s face emerges.

“Cremisius!” he chokes out. “Um, I- good… good morning.” He’s about to repeat his message about breakfast but the covers slip down from Krem’s shoulders and Dorian is reduced back to stuttering idiocy as the man’s chest comes into view. Krem rubs a hand through his hair but freezes when he sees Dorian, eyes widening.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian finally manages to get out. “I didn’t think anyone would be here, well aside from the Bull that is. I shouldn’t have come in. I- that is, um.” Dorian should really avert his eyes. Or leave the room. Or anything other than continue to stand here stuttering like a fool, Maker have mercy why won’t his mouth stop?

“ _Dorian,_ ” Krem finally says, cutting him off. Dorian grinds to a halt his eyes still wide and staring. “Just get out, yeah?”

Dorian nods retreating quickly.

“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. It- breakfast is ready.” He shuts the door firmly and leans against it for a moment resisting the urge to beat the back of his head against it. That went well.

When Krem and Bull finally do join the group downstairs Dorian has barely touched his food, replaying the scene over and over again in unending embarrassment. Luckily their arrival gives him something new to do. 

He picks at his food and stares covertly at the two of them. He hadn’t noticed before but now that he knows it’s practically obvious. They sit close together, practically touching. Bull’s hand occasionally brushes Krem’s on the table, prompting the smaller man to smile at him. Krem looks over at him and Dorian quickly averts his eyes, embarrassment rushing through him again. This happens two more times before Krem throws his fork onto his plate with a frustrated noise.

“Dorian, come with me,” he says standing and moving to the stairs that lead back up the rooms. He doesn’t look back to see if Dorian’s following but he doesn’t need to. Dorian scrambles to obey, firmly ignoring the chorus of ‘ooooooh’ coming from several of the Chargers still seated. He follows Krem up the stairs and the man opens the door to Dorian’s room and motions for him to enter. Once the door is closed behind them Krem levels him with a glare.

“Out with it,” he says simply, challenge in every word. Dorian blinks.

“Out with what?” he asks. Krem’s glare deepens.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Altus.” Dorian flinches at the tone of the word. It doesn’t sound like a friendly nickname anymore, but an insult. “If you’ve got some kind of problem with me, you just tell me now.”

“A problem?” Dorian asks. _That’s_ what he thinks?

“Yeah, a problem. You’ve been staring ever since you saw. Got something to say about how maybe I’m not a real man?” 

Dorian sputters and raises his hands in supplication.

“ _No,_ ” he says vehemently.

“It about me and Bull, then? I know what you Noble types think of relationships like that. That what’s crawled up your ass?” Krem demands.

“No!” Dorian takes hold of Krem’s shoulders. “ _No._ Cremisius it’s _fantasic!_ ” he says breathlessly.

“… What?” Krem asks.

“I’m so happy for you,” Dorian says enthusiastically.

“You’re… happy for us?”

“Yes,” Dorian tells him. To see them being that way with each other; _touching each other’s hands,_ in _public,_ spending the night in the same bed. Dorian was torn being feeling envious and being thrilled for them at the thought of it. Then he pauses and his eyes narrow.

“Do people often give you trouble for it?” he asks.

“Uh, not so much anymore. The Chargers are good and no one else really knows.”

Dorian relaxes, nodding in satisfaction.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was…,” he trails off waving his hand vaguely. Krem nods.

“Yeah. It’s okay,” he says. The two of them stand there awkwardly for a moment before Krem speaks again. “So… breakfast?”

“Sweet Maker, yes please,” Dorian agrees.

When they return to the table there’s some laughing.

“Little Dorian get in trouble?” Rocky asks teasingly.

“I am two and half feet taller than you, dwarf,” Dorian fires back.

“Well, come on, did he tear you a new one?” Dalish whispers in his ear.

“Just a misunderstanding,” Dorian says. He glances over at Krem to see him sitting down again. The Bull arches an eyebrow at him and Krem just shakes his head with a rueful smile squeezing his hand and twining their fingers together.

Dorian’s heart aches.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAH I'm so sorry this took me so long!!!
> 
> Hope you all like it!

Dorian is… twitchy. As much as he hates to use that word in regards to himself, it applies. They’re in Nevarra, entirely too close to the Tevinter border for anything like comfort, and Dorian is twitchy. Granted hunting slavers is a noble undertaking, and it’s certainly wonderful that there _are_ nobles who occasionally give a shit when servants go missing, he just wishes they were doing it anywhere else. The only consolation is that Krem is just as uncomfortable. The man is hovering close to Bull at all times, and Dorian is attempting not to do the same but thinks he may be failing. The result is the three of them clustered into tight group at the table at dinner, Krem and Dorian paying only halfhearted attention as rest of the charger’s laugh and joke about the day’s fight and jump at every too loud noise. Dalish scoffs.

“Nothing like being close to the border with a couple of jumpy ‘Vints,” she says.

“Suck it up, Dalish,” Krem shoots back. “We don’t like it any more than you do.” Dorian shifts staring at his plate. Bull is taking his job as a source of comfort very seriously. He’s sitting up taller than usual all but casting a shadow over Krem and Dorian and he’s got his arm around Krem’s shoulders.

Dorian is _not_ jealous. He’s not. He glances at them out of the corner of his eye and takes notice of a change in the way Bull is sitting. He’s tenser now, more alert, staring at something in the right hand corner of the room. Dorian cats his eyes about but doesn’t see anything suspicious, just a group of men looking at something on their table. Dorian turns back to his plate assuming Bull is just feeling a little jumpy too.

A few moments later he looks back up at the sound of Bull’s voice.

“Problem?” the qunari asks tensely. Dorian gives him a confused look turning to follow his gaze and sees the man from across the room standing next to their table, looking tense. One of them has his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“You’ve got a wanted man in your midst, Serah,” the one in front says. His accent marks him as Tevinter, meaning the rest probably are as well. Bounty hunters most likely. Krem tenses next to him, and Dorian covertly reaches for his staff, ready to defend the man if necessary.

“That so,” Bull says calmly. The inn’s gone quiet.

“Indeed it is,” the man speaks again. He tosses a piece of paper down onto the table. On it is a surprisingly good likeness of Dorian. They got his mouth wrong, though, the mage notices distantly. “By order of Aquinea Thalrassian of House Pavus.”

Dorian makes a choked sound. His mother.

“Interesting,” Bull says. “Thanks for letting us know. You can be moving on now.”

The leader of the bounty hunters raises his hands placatingly, casting his eyes over the Chargers.

“Now, there’s no reason this has to escalate, Serah. That’s quite a bit of money, there. We’re more than willing to split it with you,” he suggests.

Dorian tenses, still staring at the flier with his face on it.

Wanted: Dorian Pavus.  
Dead or Alive.  
For the murder of Magister Halward Pavus.

It is rather a lot of money.

Dorian tenses readying himself to run, flinching hard when Bull stands up suddenly, his chair skidding hard across the floor. Krem takes a firm but gentle hold on his arm and it’s the only thing that keeps him from fleeing.

“I said you can be on your way now,” he says. The leader moves for the hilt of his sword but doesn’t reach it before Bull’s hand shoots out, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into the table. The man makes a sound of pain as his face impacts the wood, shaking plates and cutlery and upending Dorian’s wine glass. “Chargers,” Bull says, not taking his hand off the man or his gaze off the rest of the bounty hunters. “Let’s move out of here.”

They all stand, hands on their weapons and when that had that happened? Dorian is still slightly stunned by what’s just happened and Krem has to pull him to his feet. He’s maneuvered until he’s in the middle of them and then they all start to walk towards the door, keeping a close eye on the bounty hunters. When they’re near the door, Bull finally releases the leader, snagging up the flier as he does.

“We’ll take that,” he says. “Thanks again for the head’s up.”

Dorian takes several deep breaths of the fresh air outside the inn, still slightly stunned.

“Well,” Stitches says. “That escalated quickly.”

“Guess we’re sleeping outside tonight, boys,” Dalish adds with a sigh. “You alright there, Dorian?”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Fine.”

Krem squeezes his forearm with a smile.

“It wasn’t about me, for once,” he jokes. “Not sure what to do with that. Fuck, I hate these border towns.”

“Let’s go get the horses and set up camp,” Bull says. Bull and Krem stay put when the rest of the Chargers move to the stables, holding Dorian back with them.

“You maybe wanna bunk with us, tonight?” Bull asks. “Want you where I can see you.”

“He gets like this,” Krem says fondly. “Protective. No pressure. He’ll deal with it, if you’re not comfortable.” Dorian blinks.

“No, I- that would be fine,” he tells them. “I- thank you. For what you did in there.”

“Course, Dorian,” Krem says. “You’re one of us. We look out for our own.” He paused a bit before continuing. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Dorian responds trying not to think about the flier or what it said about who had put a price on his head. Dead or alive. Maker. Bull squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Oi!” came Skinner’s voice from the stables. “You three gonna help or stand around all day?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bull called shaking his head muttering. “No respect.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooooly shit you guys. Grad school ate my entire life this semester. Luckily it's pretty much over now and I have all winter break free to get back into writing.  
> Thanks for being patient with this chapter Ya'll. Hope it was worth the wait <3

Dorian lays in his bedroll staring up at the cloth top of the tent. He’s gotten no sleep at all, playing the scene in the Inn over and over in his mind. They’d defended him. When they could have split the reward for him. The flyer had said dead _or_ alive. They wouldn’t even have had to hurt him, just allow him to be taken, but they’d protected him. All of them, even Skinner, had had their hands on their weapons, ready to fight for him if it’d come to it. They’d even sacrificed their shelter for the night to keep him safe. They’re sleeping in tents right now instead of beds because of him.

He turns on his side and looks over at Krem and Bull where they lay asleep in their bedroll. They hadn’t batted an eyelash at sharing even when he was present, and Dorian had mostly been able to keep the blush of his face and his stares to himself. He couldn’t imagine having that. Being able to sleep next to a man he cared for, _loved_ even. They were so lucky to have found each other. They looked… beautiful together, Bull’s large form curled around Krem’s smaller one. The blanket had fallen down at some point and the Bull’s chest and stomach were visible along with Krem’s back. The other Vint has his head pillowed on the qunari’s chest and his hand is resting low on Bull’s stomach. They look peaceful in their sleep and Dorian feels something stir in him at the sight. He frowns remembering his father’s sneer of disgust and turns over on his other side, forcing down the desire to be lying next to them, or even better _between_ them. Is there no end to his shameful depravity?

He squeezes his eyes shut and tried to force himself to sleep.

_The door to the cellar swings open and Dorian blinks against the light that floods in. He sits up forcing himself to meet his father’s eyes, swallowing down his fear._

_“Father,” he says graciously. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He’s been locked in the cellar for what feels like days but given the lack of windows he has no way of knowing for sure. He is cold and covered in filth from lying on the floor. Really, he’ll have to speak to the servants. How long since this infernal room had been swept?_

_Halward gives him a stern frown that Dorian refuses to shrink under._

_“Are you ready to act like a reasonable adult?” he asks. Dorian glares._

_“And how does a reasonable adult act, Father? I wasn’t aware kidnapping and imprisoning your own son fell under that description.”_

_“I wouldn’t have to do this if you would simply behave as is expected of you,” Halward scolds with a somewhat raised voice. He sighs heavily. “It’s alright Dorian. I understand that this… predilection is not your fault. But if you won’t even attempt to overcome it you leave me no choice.”_

_Dorian blinks rapidly at the words, the small tickle of fear in the back of his throat growing._

_“What are you talking about?” he asks urgently._

_“If you will not rise above this and do what is expected of you as my heir then I must find a way to cure you of this… aberration.”_

_“Cure me,” Dorian says flatly. “And how do you expect to do that?” He can’t mean… he_ wouldn’t.

_“I want you to remember, Dorian, that you are the one who pushed me to this. I didn’t want this. You forced my hand.”_

_“You can’t do this,” Dorian protests, panic beginning to rise up and choke him. Halward gives him a sad look._

_“It has already been arranged, Dorian,” he says, not a shred of sympathy in his voice. “It’s for your own good.”_

_“No,” Dorian chokes out. “You can’t do this! No!” But Halward is already walking away, closing and locking the cellar door behind him. Dorian screams throwing himself against the door and pounding on it._

_“Father!” he yells, not sure what he hoped to accomplish. “Father, PLEASE!”_

“PLEASE!” Dorian screams and he sits up, struggling when his range of motion is impeded. He lets out a terrified little noise, thrashing to get free of whatever’s holding him.

“Dorian, relax,” A voice says from his side, hands coming to take his shoulders. He lashes out without thinking striking against the man beside him with a cry. “ _Dorian!_ ”

His eyes fly open and he looks around panting hard. Krem is crouched next to him, Bull watching them anxiously from the bedroll. Dorian's eyes widen when he realizes it’s Krem’s hands on his shoulders. He’s hopelessly tangled in the blankets, he’s woken them up with his hollering, and he’s just _hit Krem_.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, trying to calm his heavy breathing. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I- are you alright? I _hit_ you.”

“I’m fine, Dorian,” Krem says, eyeing him with a concerned expression. “Are _you_?” Dorian nods quickly, taking several deep breaths and trying to purge the image of his father’s resigned and uncaring expression from his mind.

“Yes, I’m- I’m alright. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He bites his lip and takes several more deep breaths. He is not going to cry. He’s _not_.

Krem gently brushes his hair out of his face, fingers lingering on his cheek.

“You sure?” he asks, voice gentle. Dorian squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck, he’s going to cry.

“Shit. Dorian,” Krem says sadly when the first tear falls down Dorian’s cheek. The mage shakes his head still trying to salvage this.

“I’m fine. Really it’s nothing.” He might almost sound convincing if he hadn’t been interrupted halfway through the sentence by a half stifled sob.

“No, you’re not,” Bull says. He holds out a hand, from where he sits and beckons Dorian closer. Dorian shakes his head, eyes wide.

“I- that’s… that’s not necessary. I couldn’t possibly,” he trails off, looking back and forth between them.

“You can,” Krem says. “It’s okay, Dorian. You’re not alone.” The mage lets out a harsh sounding sob, squeezing his eyes shut again. “Come on. Let us help you.”

_”I’m only trying to help you.”_

Dorian flinches at the memory and lets himself be led over to where Bull sat. The two of them wrap their arms around him and pull him down to lie between them. A coarse thought runs through his mind that if this was the way to end up cradled between them he should have had a nightmare and fallen apart days ago. He flinches under it, hating the thought of using them in such a way.

“You’re alright, Dorian,” Bull murmurs against his hair. “We’re not gonna let anything hurt you.”

“He wanted to help me,” he whispers weakly. “He thought he was doing the right thing.” Even as he says it, he’s not sure he believes it. Krem’s arms tighten around him.

“Blood magic is no way to help anybody,” he mutters. “Blood magic only helps the person using it. He was doing what was good for _himself_ , Dorian. Whatever he told you, nothing you could have done could have warranted that.”

Dorian sobbed against the other Vint’s chest clutching them both tight. They lay like that for a long time, the two of them soothing Dorian as he cried. Eventually, Dorian drifted back to sleep, exhausted from his sobbing and the emotional toll of his nightmare.

Krem and Bull shared a look over Dorian’s sleeping form, anger sparking between their eyes, both of them wondering what the fuck that bastard had been trying to _do_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! At long last the next chapter!!

Dorian wakes later the next morning then he’d intended to. The sun is already filtering through the cloth of the tent but surprisingly Bull and Krem are still in the bedroll, with him still very much between them. He blinks confusedly and Bull smiles down at from where he’s sitting up in bed, writing something.

“We didn’t want to wake you up,” he says.

“it’s not like we had anywhere urgent to be,” Krem adds. He’s sewing what looks like a sleeve of some sort. “And you had kind of a rough night.”

Dorian frowns sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Yes,” Dorian says softly. “I suppose I owe you some sort of explanation for that.” Krem puts down his sewing.

“You don’t owe us anything, Dorian. If you want to talk we’ll listen, but we’re not going to make you,” he says. Dorian looks to Bull but the Qunari just nods in agreement. Dorian sighs.

“I like men,” he says. Bull arches his one remaining eyebrow, which looks just as ridiculous as when he tries to blink with his one remaining eye.

“Was that supposed to be a secret?” he asks. Dorian glares.

“ _Yes_ , yes it very much _was_ ,” he grumbles. “You might have at least acted surprised.” Krem gives a laugh shaking his head at them.

“So… you like men. That can’t have been easy. Being an Altus,” he says gently, sympathizing and prompting Dorian to say more.

“It would have been, had I been willing to live a lie. Marry a girl, have an heir, live in mutual hatred and barely civil domesticity for the rest of my life,” the mage replies. “But I couldn’t do that. After several years of hopeless, shameless, and rather _public_ debauchery my father finally decided to take matters into his hands.” He pauses for a moment taking a deep breath.

“The first time he attempted the ritual, I got away. Fled the country. He followed. You remember, I’m sure, what happened next.”

“That’s what that shit was about? You not being attracted to women?” Bull asks voice incredulous. Dorian nods.

“I think when he caught me the second time… part of me hoped it would work. That he’d be able to… fix me, I suppose. That I could go home and be his son again and everything would be alright.” He gives a bitter laugh. “I would have hated that Dorian. I wouldn’t even recognize that version of myself. But I wouldn’t have known any different if it’d worked. As far as I’d have been concerned, I’d be the same as I always had been.”

“There’s nothing to fix Dorian,” Krem says softly, reaching out to take the mage’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Of course not,” Dorian says with a weak smile. “I’m the height of perfection. Truly you are all blessed to know me. Besides,” he took a deep breath. “I know that even if he had succeeded it would only have gotten worse. Who knows how he would have decided to ‘fix’ me next. I’d end up just a copy of him. I suppose that’s truly what he always wanted.”

“You bas make everything so complicated,” Bull mutters. “Family and sex and relationships.” He shakes his head and Dorian chuckles.

“Are you trying to convert me now, Bull? There might be some positives to that I suppose. Especially the clothes. I’ve seen how qunari warriors dress and I’ve always looked rather fetching in rope. The stitches through the lips might be a bit of a drawback, though.”

“Hey,” Bull says seriously, turning to look at him. “You know I don’t think of you like that, right? You or Dalish.”

“Yes Bull, I know,” Dorian tells him. “I wouldn’t have stayed otherwise.” Krem bites his lip. Given some of the things Dorian just said about his father he’s not sure that’s true. But he doesn’t say anything.

“What is that you’re sewing Cremisius?” Dorian asks, abruptly changing the subject. Krem spins so that it’s harder for Dorian to see it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. Dorian arches an eyebrow.

“Well it’s hardly a secret if you’re doing it right in front of me,” he points out. Krem gives him a light hearted glare.

“Mind your own, Altus.”

Dorian sighs theatrically, flopping back onto the bedroll.

“Oh, very well keep your secrets,” he mutters. “I suppose if we’re not going anywhere today I might as well go back to bed.” He rolls over onto his side, opening one eye to look up at Bull. “Give the Qun my regards.”

Bull doesn’t react at all really. Which tells Dorian more than anything else could that he’s been caught off guard.

“You’re not the only one who sees things, The Iron Bull. And if you are Tal-Vashoth, I am the Archon.”

The Bull stares at him for a moment before laughing, patting his shoulder companionably. 

Dorian falls back asleep, still between the two of them, with a smile on his face and Bull’s fingers carding through his hair.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY WOW was it really may that I updated last??? Yeesh guys, sorry about that! Have some pining Dorian to make it up to you!

It’s becoming something of a pattern. Dorian has a nightmare, Krem or Bull will come to collect him, and he spends the rest of the night between them. It’s happening so frequently he’s beginning to wonder if he’s intruding, taking up their alone time for himself. He sighs, pressing closer to the Bull’s shoulder.

That’s not the only problem. They two of them have always been attractive in a vague, do not touch under any circumstances, sort of way. They’re together and that means Dorian’s out of luck and he’s been able to restrain his desire for the most part. The last thing he wants is to come between them. But now he’s spending most nights _pressed_ between them. They’re beginning to symbolize warmth and safety in his mind and that desire is turning into something _much_ more dangerous.

Dorian is falling in love with Bull and Krem. He’s trying desperately to hide it but they’re not making it any easier.

About a week after the first night he’d stayed with them he finds out what Krem was sewing. Dorian holds the robes in his hand staring at them with something approaching awe.

“I tried to get the style right,” Krem says. “It’s been a while since I was in Tevinter though so it might be a little old fashioned.”

Dorian holds the robes up in front of him, taking in the sight of them. They’re made of a thick cloth he can tell will be warm even in the colder parts of the south. It falls off the shoulder on what will be his left side, baring an amount of skin that would have been considered slightly indecent in a male back home. They’re a deep purple with red trim and Dorian loves them without reservation. He doesn’t know how Krem afforded the fabric. _Purple_ of all things.

“Do you like them?” Krem asks and Dorian realizes he’s been silent long enough for the other man to start to get nervous. Well that’s just entirely unacceptable. He folds the robes over his shoulder and wraps his arms around Krem hugging him as tight as he can.

“I love them,” he murmured. “Krem they’re _gorgeous_.” Krem returns the hug for a long moment before pulling away with a swat to Dorian’s shoulder.

“Alright, alright, there’s no need to get sappy, Altus,” he says. “I figured we can’t have you playing the spoiled Vint without actually looking the part, that’s all.”

“Yes, well,” Dorian plays along, “I suppose they’ll have to do.” They both know that if all Krem wanted was to make him look the part he could have done it with much cheaper fabric and much less detailed work.

The robes are, of course, perfectly tailored. Dorian feels like a new man wearing them and he can’t help but find himself excited for the next time they have to negotiate with a client. He’ll look so much more convincing winking at them with his feet up on the table now.

However, despite all the positives of the new robes Dorian quickly realizes one drawback. His feelings for Krem have if anything gotten _deeper_ and much more difficult to hide. He’s now almost constantly wearing the perfectly tailored proof of the man’s esteem and the fact that Krem had put so much thought and effort into something as simple as a new pair of robes…

Dorian didn’t think anyone had ever had someone put so much consideration into a gift in his life. He sighs leaning back against a tree and watching Krem and Bull spar across the clearing. They look unspeakably gorgeous whacking at each other like barbarians. They’re both covered in a fine sheen of sweat and Krem’s linen shirt is sticking to him in absolutely delightful ways.

Dorian sighs letting his head fall back to thunk soundly against the bark of the tree. He is completely and utterly doomed.


End file.
